


I'm Here (Like Always)

by a_dale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All mistakes are mine, Getting Together, Harry ends up back in time, M/M, Not Beta Read, blast to the past, harry is 15, it's Tom's 5th year, obviously not canon compliant, oh Tom is also 15, pre-horcruxes, pre-myrtle dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dale/pseuds/a_dale
Summary: Harry Potter would like to start with the fact that he had no idea how he’d ended up in the past. What was worse, he had no idea how he’d ended up in 1945 of all years, and re-sorted into Slytherin.Tom Riddle would admit to no one how much Harry Evans fascinated him. The too-pale, too-thin boy had appeared at Hogwarts only a few weeks before yule, and it was to everyone's shock (his most of all) when the obviously-not-a-pureblood ended up in Slytherin, too.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 27
Kudos: 742





	I'm Here (Like Always)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Tom/Harry lately and this is what my brain spat out. 
> 
> It's a bit choppy, but it is what it is. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

Tom Riddle would admit to _no one_ how much Harry Evans fascinated him. The too-pale, too-thin boy had appeared at Hogwarts only a few weeks before yule, and it was an unspoken belief that he was here because whatever education plan he’d had before had been ruined by the war, muggle or otherwise.

Everyone had been surprised to hear he was a 5th year, Tom had assumed he was in 3rd year _at most_. Yet he’d been introduced as in the very same year as Tom, and sorted into Slytherin of all houses.

As it was clear he wasn’t a pureblood, and the shock on his face had been as obvious as everyone else’s, nobody quite knew why the sorting hat had put him with the snakes. Tom, however, wondered just what made him so special that the sorting hat would’ve sent him to follow Tom’s footsteps of being one of the few non pureblood students in the Slytherin house.

They’d learned very quickly that Harry Evans was not only a talented wizard, but an immensely powerful one. Despite his unassuming size, he duelled like he was made for it,and moved as if constantly prepared for battle.

Given what was going on outside the walls of Hogwarts, it wasn’t that unusual, but Tom still found something about it intriguing.

Beyond that, Harry was not at all threatened by him. In fact, when Tom had first introduced himself, there’d been such pure hatred in Harry’s eyes, tempered later only by wariness, but most infuriating, contempt.

It was one thing from the purebloods, who, at this point, all lived well under his thumb. But from another half-blood? Or even worse, a muggle born? It was untenable.

And yet.

No matter what Tom said, or did, or what he allowed those in his house to do, Harry never so much as flinched.

It all changed one afternoon when Tom was patrolling as part of his Prefect duties and found Myrtle Warren crying in the bathroom _again_. He barely restrained from rolling his eyes as he cajoled her from the bathroom, sympathizing despite the fact that he found her disgustingly pathetic.

He’d spotted Harry the moment the boy turned the corner, and saw not only the recognition in his gaze, but the _shock_.

“Myrtle?” The boy had blurted, surprise evident in his voice even as he came forward. Myrtle jerked beside Tom, looking up at where Harry now came towards him, but there was none of the recognition that had been on Harry’s face.

“You’re that new boy.” She sniffled as he approached, and it was only because Tom was watching him so carefully that he saw the moment of _pain_ slide through green eyes before they were smiling brightly.

Tom realized it was the first time he’d ever seen the other boy smile and it was alarming to say the least.

“I am. Are you alright? It’s a bit drab, this end of the castle, how about I walk you back to the dorm?”

Myrtle squinted at him a moment, flattered, because despite being new, Harry was still handsome, if you liked the dishevelled sort of look. The suspicion followed a moment later, followed by more worry.

“But why would _you_ want to walk with _me_?” She asked, and Tom, if he wasn’t in such good control of himself, would’ve asked the very same question. What was going through his head?

Harry, and how he’d been sorted into Slytherin Tom had no idea, blinked in puppy-like confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Then he turned, despite the fact that he’d clearly been headed this direction, offering his arm. “Ready then?”

Myrtle only hesitated a moment before accepting the arm, and Harry lead her off down the hallway.

Tom watched them go in silence, staring holes in Harry Evans back. If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, he wouldn’t have seen the slight glance back in his direction, or how the hate had been replaced by consideration.

He wondered why this, of all things, was one of the things that was changing the boy’s opinion of him.

He had no idea he’d just earned himself a new and unwanted companion.

>>>

Harry would like to start with the fact that he had no idea how he’d ended up in the past. What was worse, he had no idea how he’d ended up in 1945 of all years, and re-sorted into Slytherin. He was 15 years old, and the Christmas break he’d been planning to spend with Sirius and the Weasley’s had been torn away from him by a stray bit of magic sweeping him up and out of his own time.

“Evans.”

Harry looked up to see Tom Riddle standing over him, and sighed.

“What do you want, Riddle?” He asked, tired. The thought that he’d casually talk to the future dark lord, and not only that but be _exasperated_ by him, still gave him a headache.

“You weren’t at dinner.”

Harry nodded, looking back down at his Transfiguration essay with a frustrated scowl.

“I got distracted.” And he wasn’t lying. He was pretty sure it was Hermione’s voice he heard in his head when he’d ended up back in the past at Hogwarts that said he still had to study and do well, but he hadn’t been able to ignore it. After all, no point taking a chance that with his luck he wouldn’t be stuck here.

What he hadn’t expected that one of his previously favourite subjects would become one of his least favourites because of an unexpected dislike from none other than Dumbledore himself. He couldn’t understand just why the man seemed to hate him on sight, but it made something in him just so _angry_.

There was a sigh before Riddle was sitting at the table as well and he took Harry’s essay without so much as a by your leave.

Harry didn’t bother fighting it. After all, after that moment with Myrtle in the hallway he’d gone from avoiding Tom Riddle like he was the plague to sticking to him like a bur. This was before he’d made his first horcruxe. If he could prevent him from ever making one, then he would stop Lord Voldemort from ever becoming.

It had taken Riddle a few weeks but he seemed to have resigned himself to Harry’s presence, and if Harry did say so himself, he was pretty sure Riddle actually genuinely liked him.

He’d realized not too long after that moment with Myrtle that while yes, Tom was a budding psychopath, and did have horrible, violent tendencies, he was also a product of moulding; a moulding that Dumbledore had a hand in.

It was amazing what a little positive reinforcement could do. Let it be known that Harry could be both Slytherin and Gryffindor just fine, thank you very much.

He leaned back as Riddle read through his paper, small frown furrowing his brow.

“This is perfectly adequate.” The taller boy said, looking over at Harry with inscrutable eyes. “It does not explain why you weren’t at dinner.”

Harry scowled, reminded again of just why he was struggling with this essay.

“See, that’s what I thought, too. But Dumbledore apparently disagrees.” He watched Tom’s mouth tighten into a firm line at the words before he stood up.

“Come with me.”

Harry shot to his feet, more because Tom kept his essay in hand as he strode off than actually wanting to follow.

“Hold on, give that back! Tom! Where are you going?”

The prefect’s step faltered so minutely it was barely noticeable, in fact, Harry didn’t think anyone else would’ve noticed. But he wasn’t a seeker for nothing. Then he realized just what he’d done. He’d called him by name.

Rather than correct him though, Tom just kept on.

“We’re going to the library. If he wants better, that’s just what you’ll give him.”

And that’s how Harry found himself a study partner.

>>>

Harry snarled as the curse slashed across his cheek, sneaking through his defence as it followed a worse curse that he’d thrown his power into blocking.

He’d been cornered by a group of 7th year Gryffindor’s, and he was disgusted by the lengths they would go to just because of house rivalry.

He hated Slytherins as most Gryffindor’s did in his own day and time, but he never would’ve picked on younger members of the house. His ire, and that of his friends, had always been reserved for those that antagonized them in return, like Malfoy and his ilk.

He was disappointed and disgusted that this sort of thing happened in the past. Not only that, but 5 against 1 was hardly fair odds.

Harry’s eyes sparked dangerously, a cold smirk twisting his features.

For them.

Tom sped up at the sound of a duel up ahead, a foreboding feeling telling him this was why he hadn’t been able to find Harry.

It had been annoying at first, having the emerald-eyed boy following him around, but not even as a follower, as a constant thorn in his side, constantly questioning him - _challenging_ him - but then Tom had found himself looking for the other boy when he wasn’t there. Had found himself _wanting_ his cursed opinion, despite the fact that it almost always contradicted his own. But there was something about Harry Evans - something about the conviction he spoke with that just shook Tom to his core. And how he looked at Tom - like he was something Harry was fighting for - that stubborn, protective streak - showing itself for him. He didn’t know what to make of it. But he knew he coveted it. Like anything he coveted, he intended to make sure it remained his.

Which lead him to where he was now. Looking for Harry and finding himself approaching a duel.

Wand already in hand, he turned the corner in time to see a 7th year Gryffindor thrown back to hit the cobblestone with a crack even as he watched the sleeve of Harry’s robe split and blood spill from his shoulder. He already had a cut on his cheek, but that wasn’t what really drew Tom’s attention. It was the look in his eyes - the vicious knowledge that no matter what, the people who’d attacked him would walk away worse than him.

With a few slashes of his wand, Tom had the offenders wands in his hand - coming up behind them and able to surprise them.

He looked at Harry, took in the blood once more, and felt _rage_ bubble in his chest that somebody had touched what he considered his.

A cold smirk made its way onto his features as he turned to the Gryffindors, but even as they cowered back and he lifted his wand, Harry was there, putting a hand on his arm. He was limping, Tom realized, and it only made him angrier. How dare the object of his newfound affection be injured without his permission?

“They’re not worth it.” Harry said then, hand still on Tom’s arm, and Tom sneered.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Harry. They’re the very reason I must. After all, we wouldn’t want them to think it’s acceptable to corner a younger student 5 to 1.”

He met Harry’s gaze unflinchingly, and was honestly surprised when Harry gave.

“Alright, they do need a lesson. But not like this. I have a better idea.”

Tom could admit that watching the boys get shunned with the word BULLY in bright neon across their foreheads, and flinch back every time either he or Harry approached was rather satisfying. Though not necessarily as satisfying as if he’d just cursed them.

Harry, as if reading his thoughts, bumped their shoulders together and rolled his eyes when Tom looked over.

Tom realized it was the first time someone coming into contact with him, physically, didn’t make him want to snap their neck.

Slowly, so as not to be caught, he leaned, ever so slightly, into the touch.

>>>

He couldn’t find Harry.

While this wasn’t necessarily unusual - Harry had a particular way of avoiding people when he didn’t want to be found - and it was unfortunately normal for the boy to miss meals - what was unusual was for him to miss class.

And not just any class, but Defense against the Dark Arts. If anything, this was Harry’s favourite. Tom barely resisted tapping his fingers against his desk, pointedly kept his eyes forward, but even Professor Merryweather shot a curious and almost worried look towards the empty desk next to Tom.

As soon as the bell rang Tom was up and out of his chair, a flick of his wand and he was off in the direction of wherever Harry was hiding.

He knew it was unethical to put a trace on another student, but ever since that duel where Harry had been cornered - well he didn’t seem able to help himself.

It was pouring rain out, and it was with a tightening in his chest that he realized Harry was outside in this weather for some reason. He didn’t know what the feeling meant, but he knew he didn’t like it.

Pointing his wand towards the sky, he conjured an umbrella, taking a moment to watch as water sluiced away over an invisible surface, leaving him dry.

It was in small moments like this that he allowed himself to feel that wonder at magic and what it could accomplish.

Then he set off into the rain.

He followed the magical tug through the grounds, and found himself wondering why he’d bothered. There wasn’t a single other person at Hogwarts that he’d bother trying to track like this. Not a single person that he’d willingly follow out into the rain.

He was less surprised when he reached the edge of the Quiditch pitch. He should’ve known that this would be where Harry hid.

That strange tightness was back in his chest as he caught sight of Harry, sitting in the middle of the field, hair plastered to his skull, face tipped up to the sky, arms resting on bent knees. The sound of water rushed in his ears as he approached, and he realized it was fear that caused it. What was wrong with Harry?

Though he knew he’d been silent, Harry’s eyes opened the moment he stepped into his line of sight.

He nearly rocked back at the despair there. Neither of them spoke, but Tom continued his approach, not stopping until the umbrella covered Harry as well. He realized then that the rain had been hiding tears, tears that continued to slide down Harry’s cheeks.

The tightness in Tom’s chest became almost unbearably tight, choking him.

The need to do violence to whoever had caused this followed just as swiftly, and he grasped onto the anger, far more comfortable with it.

“What happened? Who did this?” He could hear the anger in the cold tone of his own voice, but he didn’t try to hide it. He’d never had any need to hide things from Harry. Harry just shook his head.

“No one-” His voice broke and he shook his head. “Nobody did this.”

Tom’s hands clenched in fists.

“Something happened.” Tom argued. Harry nodded, closing his eyes again.

“Today would’ve been one of my best mate’s birthdays.” He admitted, opening his eyes and pinning Tom in place with the vibrant green. “But I’m probably never going to see any of them again. Ever.” He gave a humourless laugh that cut to the bone.

“Did you know I was an orphan even before I came here?” Harry asked, and Tom could only shake his head. “My friends - they were the only family I’ve ever known. Now they’re gone.”

Tom didn’t realize he was shaking until the first splatter of rain hit his cheek. He didn’t know why Harry’s mood shook him so much - literally - only that he found it unbearable.

“I’m here.” He didn’t know where the words came from, couldn’t believe he’d said them. He felt vague horror as Harry stared at him a moment. Then, the smile came, slow, small, but genuine.

“Yeah, you are.”

Harry shifted and Tom offered a hand, something loosening when Harry accepted. When he stood though, Harry didn’t let go, and Tom made no move to dislodge him.

The tears had stopped, the despair faded back, and then something else came into the green eyes staring into his own.

It was determination - it was -

Tom’s thoughts ground to a halt when Harry closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Tom’s.

The spell keeping them dry slipped away in the moment of shock, and suddenly getting drenched sent a second jolt through Tom’s body.

Harry leaned back, watching him carefully, but for once, Tom didn’t want to think. Instead, he slid a hand into Harry’s hair, the other wrapping around his waist to pull the slighter boy closer.

He registered the shock followed swiftly by relief in Harry’s gaze before he was kissing him, and far less chastely.

Tom didn’t care about the rain anymore - not with the mantra of MINE - MINEMINEMINEMINE running through his head.

When he finally drew away, he felt a surge of satisfaction at the pink in Harry’s cheeks, felt that rush of possessiveness and gripped tighter.

Harry winced and Tom realized that maybe he’d gripped a little _too_ tightly, but rather than move away Harry pressed their foreheads together.

“I can’t give them back to you.” Tom said then, and felt Harry wince again, but he still didn’t let go. “But you’re mine. And I won’t leave you. Ever.” He realized belatedly that it was far more possessive than was proper, but when he looked into Harry’s eyes all he saw was fond amusement.

“Guess we’ll have to stick together then, since that makes you mine too.”

Tom surged closer to kiss him again, satisfied when Harry’s eyes were almost glazed this time.

“I suppose I am.” He agreed. The smile Harry gave him in return was nearly blinding. Tom stepped back then, offering his hand once more.

“Come on then. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get sick from siting out in the rain like this.” He scolded. Harry’s smile didn’t fade, but he did accept Tom’s hand.

Together, they walked back to Hogwarts.


End file.
